Starstone
by Invader Vidya
Summary: He is reminded to give Gryffindor five points anonymously while in his quarters that night.


**Flame-target, as usual, if you want. 3 Happy holidays.**

He stares down at the gift, confusion swimming in his eyes. The dark-haired man does not know what this is, nobody has never given him a gift before. Except Albus, who gives him lemon drops every year, or Minerva, who gives him chocolate. He hates chocolate, really. It always ends up being tossed away. He prefers liquorice wands over anything.

He mutters a series of complicated spells underneath his breath, checking for anything dark. Nothing is dark; it seems to just be a simple gift.

He is even more confused, then.

Slowly, his hand hovers just above the overly-glittery black bow.

Lower, lower his potion-stained fingers go, and just brushing the bow, his eyes close as he slowly unwraps the gift, and he waits for something to happen; unconsciousness, pain, anything?

But nothing happens, and he is more confused than ever and he slowly, hesitantly opens his eyes. He stares at the wall for a few moments, afraid to look at the gift, but slowly, he does.

And he snorts. Bubblewrap.

He is amused, and then he notices the note on top of the bubblewrap.

His fingers brush it and he thinks, _this is it_, but it is not it, and nothing happens still.

Sighing frustratedly, his black eyes lower to the note and he slowly reads it, noting _Potter's_ writing. He'd always tell Potter's writing from other writing, because Potter's writing was horribly atrocious.

"_Happy Christmas, Professor Snape. I hope you like it. We honestly had no idea what else to get you._"

And below that, the Weasley boy's even more atrocious writing:

"**It was all Harry's idea.**" He snorts, and continues to Granger's nice, familiar, actually -legible- writing.

"_Ron's right, it was Harry's idea. We hope you like the gift.. have a nice Christmas."_

Briefly he wonders why Potter would give -him- of all people, a gift, but then he realizes he is actually eager to see the gift and he sneers in disgust.

He carefully digs through the bubblewrap, making sure it did not seem like he was a greedy little child on Christmas tearing through his gifts like the brat he was.

He notices it, then, at the very bottom of the box, nestled in the corner, is a star-shaped stone. It flickers lightly with white light at the edges, and then does he notice what it truly is; that starstone connected to a long, glimmering silver chain.

He's always liked silver, and not just because it was a Slytherin color.

He stares at it in surprise, black eyes wide. He lifts it out of the box, and the starstone glimmers brighter.

Such a rare gift.. he wondered where Potter and his ridiculous friends found it.

A starstone was believed to bring luck, but most people didn't see the true treasure it was; on close danger whether you knew of said danger or not, it would change from white to a hot, pulsing red, and it would turn from white to purple if somebody near you was in dire danger.

Holding it close to his chest, he stared at it in awe, before slowly fastening the chain around his neck. If anybody saw it, then he'd just say it was a gift from a friend. There was no harm in that, really.. he'd never tell -anyone- he got a gift from the ever-famous Potter.

The famous Trio stares at him expectantly when he comes into the Hall, and he almost smirks inside at their glimmering, waiting eyes. He stops near them and he briefly notices they stop breathing.

He lightly fingers the chain around his neck and stares down at them. He does not say thank you, nor does he say hello, but he simply says, "Happy Christmas." He is reminded to give Gryffindor five points anonymously while in his quarters that night. He sits, hand still protectively clutching at the chain around his neck.

Perhaps it wasn't going to be such a bad Christmas after all.. that was, unless he got caught underneath the mistletoe with Minerva again. Albus always charmed these damned leaves to keep the occupants underneath them until they kissed eachother. Eugh. Kissing a drunk Minerva was -not- on his to-do list.


End file.
